Guardians of Slave Morality
by acheron beach
Summary: A HGSS in response to WIKTT's "A slave, just what I always wanted (NOT)" challenge.


  
**Guardians of Slave Morality**

In response to WIKTT challenge "A Slave Just what I always Wanted (NOT)"

Usually I would heavily edit my fics before posting, but I noticed that the challenge was about to be deleted. Please forgive my sloppy work, and give me constructive criticism. I've never written a HP fic before... and I'm not too confident (understatement of the year). Note that this will be a R rated fic in time.

Disclaimer: This doesn't belong to me it belongs to Rowling.

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Chapter One

Hermione had expected to be there at the final battle. It would be she, Ron and Harry, the Golden Trio up against the Dark Lord. The prophecy had predicted his downfall.

An exploded cauldron had sent the plans awry. During potions class Neville had been paired with Hermione, a simple way to keep the idiotic Longbottom child from destroying the potions lab. Snape had specifically ordered her, "make certain he doesn't kill anyone."

While Snape had gone into the supply closet for an extra jar of boomslang skin, she'd crept over to where Ron stood and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. She hadn't thought it would hurt; after all, Neville simply had to leave the cauldron untouched over the flame until it turned green. Even he couldn't ruin that, she'd thought.

Wrongly, unfortunately. She'd been leaning over to kiss Ron sweetly when she heard the explosion. Neville yelped, Ron pulled her back and shielded her. Harry turned white and stared at the doorway. Snape, his cloak billowing out, sneered over his seventh year potions class, his eyes focused not on Neville, but on Ron and Hermione in the corner, embracing one another and covered in green goo.

"Miss Granger," he said softly, his voice terse with anger, "I specifically asked you to monitor Longbottom, not to exchange saliva samples with Mister Weasley."

"Sorry, sir," she whispered, pulling back slowly from Ron's arms, "I didn't think..."

"That much is evident. As detention, you will collect a full jar of holly leaf for me, wild holly leaf, to replace the leaves which were wasted by Longbottom's explosive concoction. After dinner, Longbottom, you will clean, by hand, every cauldron in this potions lab."

Ron smiled, "Don't worry, I have Quidditch practice next. We can meet in the Gryffindor common room after."

She nodded, "Save some biscuits this time. I'll meet you later, love."

"I love you," he whispered as he brushed by.

---

Hermione enjoyed the walk to the holly vines that climbed around the trunks at the edge of the forest. The air was cool, but not cold enough that she had to wear a jacket instead of school robes. The sky had started out clear and cloudless, the horizon streaked with fingers of pink and orange as the sun set over the water. A few early evening stars spangled the sky. Alone at the edge of the woods, she began plucking the waxy leaves from the vines and dropping them into her basket. It was only half-full when the wind picked up. Yellow-brown clouds blanketed the stars unbelievably quickly.

She stopped when the rain began, icy-cold, soaking her hair, the wind whipping tendrils of it against her face. Snape would be angry, she thought to herself, but at least the Quidditch match would be cancelled. She smiled at the thought of returning to the Gryffindor common rooms to Harry, Ginny, Ron, and a mug of hot cocoa.

For a moment she thought she heard someone call her name, a man's voice. Then nothing. She shrugged it off as a trick of the wind and plodded back toward the school.

It was then she heard the male voices.

"Here's one."

"A Gryffindor, perfect. I'll enjoy that."

"I saw her first, Macnair."

She spun around and flipped out her wand, "_Expelliarmus_!"

One of them went flying against a tree before his partner wrenched the wand from her hands and tossed it aside. She yelped as she felt a jolt of pain run from her wrist to her elbow.

"Feisty little bitch, isn't she?"

The one she'd tossed aside picked himself up and strode up to Hermione. She turned to run, but he caught her wrists and gave her a hard slap across the face. She felt hot pain spread across her cheek, then throbbing. One kicked her in the leg and she crumpled into a heap in the dirt.

"Should we have her now?"

"No, the Dark Lord said he wanted all the survivors rounded up. We must obey him," Macnair murmured, "_Mobilicorpus_."

She felt her painful legs being forced to shuffle behind the two Death Eaters and she bit her lip to keep from crying out with each step of her right leg. After a moment she realized they were leading her to the steps of the school, the main entrance, where half a dozen others were collected. Her mind seemed to have separated from her body, and she carefully listed off the students she saw sprawled out. Lavender Brown, Gryffindor; Daisy Mintin, Hufflepuff; Mei Chang, Ravenclaw; Dean Thomas, Gryffindor; Pansy Parkinson, Slytherin. Slytherin? Why was a loyal Slytherin being kicked around by Voldemort's followers?

She felt the _mobilicorpus_ spell pulled away and she collapsed on top of Dean and Pansy.

From the corner of her eye she saw the Death Eaters. One that looked suspiciously like an older version of Vincent Crabbe; one that looked like Gregory Goyle; Draco and Lucius Malfoy; two women she didn't recognize; another three men, and... Professor Snape. All dressed in identical black, green and silver robes and leather gloves. From among them a tall, bony creature with scarlet eyes stepped forward. She gasped. Voldemort.

"My followers, you have served me well. Dumbledore has fallen thanks to our brothers, Lucius and Severus."

She stared at Draco. He met her eyes, then lowered them sheepishly.

"Now we divide the spoils of war. We will allow Lucius, the one who delivered the death-blow to the old fool, to select a plaything of his choice. Come forward, my son."

Draco whispered something to his father, and Lucius nodded. He stepped toward the tangle of students and grabbed Pansy Parkinson. The other Death Eaters watched the Slytherin girl as she scrabbled and squealed at Lucius as he dragged her off and deposited her in front of Draco.

Hermione took her chance. She slipped behind the pile of students and bolted when the Death Eaters' attention was diverted. She only made it a few steps before a bone-shuddering wave of pain hit her and she dropped to her knees with a moan.

"This one is rebellious," Voldemort hissed, "You recognize her, Severus."

"The most irritating student I have encountered in my years teaching," he sneered, "Arrogant little mudblood."

Voldemort snorted, "Then I will give her as a gift, a personal slave for you, Severus. I'm certain you will enjoy breaking her."

"Thank you for your generosity, my Lord."

He stalked toward her and grabbed her painful wrist. She squeaked and ran backward, tripping over a stick. In a flash he leaned over her, his boot aimed toward her head. She felt pain spread over her head, her eyes slowly droop close, and darkness overwhelm her.

---

Hermione's eyes fluttered open to bright sunlight. She croaked blindly, and moved her arm to cover her face from the light. Sidesplitting pain lanced up her ribs and her hand flopped down again.

"Holy shit," she croaked.

"Language, Miss Granger," a familiar voice warned.

"Sorry, Professor Snape," she found herself replying automatically. "Wait a second... you kicked me."

She opened her eyes. A row of thin windows lined the ceiling, shining brightly down onto the simple stone room. Snape stood over her, looking down with his trademark sneer and sloe-black eyes.

"Your powers of observation never cease to amaze me," he clipped, "Evidently what earned you your place as Head Girl."

She winced and tried not to cry at the pain and his snippy tone. She gritted her teeth together and pulled herself up to sit with her one uninjured wrist.

"Lie down, you stupid girl," he snapped.

His fingers snaked up to her throat and began unhooking the fasteners that held her robe together. She shied away, her eyes darting around the room. She remembered Voldemort's last words. _You'll have fun breaking her_. Snape snorted.

"Don't flatter yourself, Miss Granger," he sighed, "If I have been able to tear myself away from your school robes for seven years, I daresay I'll be able to now. I'm trying to check how far the bruise runs down your shoulder."

"Sorry, Sir," she licked her dry lips and tried to stay still as he pulled down the neck of her sweater.

He walked out and returned a moment later with a bottle of fizzing blue potion. In a momentary lapse of Snapishness, he sat down on the edge of the bed, slipped his hand under her neck, and raised her head to the lip of the bottle. Contrary to what she'd expected, his fingers weren't cold and clammy, but warm and dry. He smelled vaguely of asphodel...

"Drink," he ordered.

She swallowed the bittersweet liquid, making a mental checklist of which ingredients she could taste. Wormwood, boomslang skin... cinnamon? Daisy root...

Her skin crawled with the warmth and the pain lessened, though there was still a dull ache.

"Are you listening, Miss Granger?"

"Sorry, Sir, my mind wandered," she murmured.

"As I was saying, I am not a medi-wizard," he sighed, "And I can only do so much. Your wrist will need to heal naturally, and you will need to rest for the next few days."

"May I ask a question, Professor?"

He frowned, "I am no longer your Professor, Miss Granger."

"Well, I can't just call you Mister Snape," she replied, "It...it wouldn't be respectful to call you anything else!"

The edges of his lips flickered. In anyone else, she would have guessed a trace of amusement. This, however, was Professor Snape, the potions master who couldn't brew himself a sense of humour.

"You've never hesitated in interrogating me before, Miss Granger," he sneered, "Even when I wished otherwise. Ask away, though I don't promise to answer."

She looked around the room.

"Where am I?"

"Snape Manor," he looked out the window.

"Why have you brought me here?"

He snorted, "One does not simply reject a gift given by the Dark Lord, Miss Granger. In his infinite wisdom, he thought it amusing to saddle me with a personal slave. Punishment for my insistance on solitude for the past two decades," he looked down at her, "I value my solitude, and do not intend on changing my habits simply because I am forced to keep you."

"I'm sorry, Professor."

"And stop apologizing, it's becoming tiresome," he crossed his arms, "You will remain in the basement. If you need anything, the house-elves will attend to it. Don't expect to see me unless I need assistance in making a potion."

"Yes, Sir," she murmured, "May I ask one more question?"

"Make it quick."

"Harry, Ginny, Ron... they're dead, aren't they?"

His expression, if possible, became even more sour, "No, Miss Granger. They have been placed somewhere safe, which is all I can tell you at the moment."

"It's enough," she smiled, "Thank you, Professor."

He looked uncomfortable, and shuffled from foot to foot for a moment before leaving, shutting the door with a soft click.

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If I get some responses I'll try and post the next chapter within a few days. It's finished, just needs editing. Thank you. :)  
  



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